Good day~ For another "Mystical Magical Saturday" event may I choose Sir Leon, please? Many thanks as always~
P.S. Don't forget about taking care of your body emotionally, physically, and mentally. Drink enough water, eat healthy food (fruits and veggies, yum!), get enough sleep, take a bubble bath and just relax~ You're amazing, remember it!
(っᵔ◡ᵔ)っ(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
Aww thank you. This one is really short and I’m sorry, but I hope you like it!
The Prompt: “Hold me.”
You had taken to pacing the room. Embroidery had become tedious, the words of your book had started to blend together, and sleep was impossible. So you paced the stone floor of your shared bedroom, twisting your fingers together and biting your lip. You had always hated when he went out with the king and the other knights, but this particular mission had made you more uneasy than any other one had. And the worst part of it was that you couldn’t figure out why. It was pretty standard compared to some of the other quests Leon had found himself on, but your stomach felt heavy and your heart clenched with each turn of your feet.
The door to your room was slowly pushed open and you turned quickly to see a weary and beaten Leon step into the room. You were frozen in place, your eyes moving over his tired body. He stepped further into the room, his head hanging, dirty curls falling in his half opened eyes. His arms looked heavy, hanging at his sides as he shuffled along, his feet barely lifting from the floor. As the door slipped shut and Leon lifted his head, his eyes met yours. That was all you needed to rush forward, your hands grabbing Leon’s as he leaned in close to you.You looked up at him, “What happened?” Leon shook his head and you frowned, “Is everyone alright?” He nodded and you felt some of the weight lift from your chest.
You started to lead Leon over to the bed, wanting to get him off his feet before he fell to the floor. He stopped short though. You turned quickly, searching his face, “What is it? What do you need?”
Leon’s eye met yours, “Hold me.” His voice was rough and you could see his eyes start to water. You smiled gently and nodded as you held your arms out to him. The knight fell into you, his head resting against your shoulder and his own arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You ran a hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Leon sighed as he pushed in even closer to you, his breath fanning over your neck. You whispered comforting words into his ear, your hand rubbing slow circles on his back.
She was the very definition of kindness and grace in his eyes.
Noble by name, daughter of a knight, yes—but it was not her bloodline that had drawn Sir Leon’s notice. It was her. The way she moved through life with a quiet warmth, a strength that didn’t demand attention, but earned it all the same.
That morning was no different.
From his place on the palace’s front steps, Leon watched the courtyard come to life beneath the pale spring sun. The scent of lavender and fresh morning dew on the grass hung in the air. Laughter echoed softly between the stone walls—light, unburdened.
At the heart of it all sat YN.
She sat on a low bench beneath the blossoming tree, her skirts pooling like spring water at her feet, sleeves pushed to her elbows. Around her, half a dozen young girls were gathered—daughters of servants, tradesmen, and guards. Each held wildflowers in small eager hands, their fingers working clumsily to weave the slender stems into fragile crowns.
YN guided them patiently, her tone light and melodic as she spun a tale with her words. Some old story of forest sprites and enchanted gardens—Leon couldn’t quite hear from where he stood, but he didn’t need to. The giggles of the girls, the brightness of YN’s smile, spoke for themselves.
And when the tale reached its happy ending, YN lifted the flower crown she had been weaving—woven with such delicate care—and placed it atop the head of the youngest girl beside her, a tiny thing with wide eyes and a gap-toothed grin.
“And now you wear a crown fit for no one more than an elven princess.” She had said with a sweet and delicate smile on her face.
The girl’s cheeks flushed pink with delight. The other children clapped in approval.
Leon felt the corner of his mouth curve without thinking. She had that effect—on all of them. On him.
He moved forward then, boots soft on stone, not wanting to disturb the moment. Still, YN glanced up as he approached, her eyes meeting his with that gentle brightness he had come to know too well.
“Sir Leon,” she greeted, rising with easy grace. A stray blossom had caught in the curls of her hair. Somehow, it suited her perfectly.
“Lady YN,” he returned, dipping his head in greeting. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” she replied warmly. “We’ve just finished our morning story.”
The girls, seeing the knight approach, scrambled up with giggles and curtsies before scampering off, clutching their crowns like treasures.
Leon watched them go, then turned back to her. “You seem to have made their morning.”
YN tilted her head slightly, a playful glimmer in her gaze. “I like to think they have made mine more than I made theirs. So young. So innocent. Willing to just sit and be while listening to old legends told from generation to generation. It has much pleased me that I could be the one to tell them to the next of us.”
Leon’s heart beat just a little faster, as it always did when she looked at him like that.
“If you’ve time,” he said, steadying his voice the best he could. “Now that you have finished, I was hoping you would care to join me for a walk in the gardens.”
She smiled again, softer now. “With you, always.”
Leon offered his arm, which she took with a light touch, her fingers warm against the crook of his elbow.
And as they began to walk the garden paths, sunlight dappled across stone and bloom, Leon thought—not for the first time—that there was no battle nor glory that could compare to this: the quiet honor of walking beside her.
They moved in easy step, her hand resting lightly on his arm, skirts whispering across the gravel path. The castle gardens were still waking to the season—buds unfurling, green shoots reaching for the sun. The faint buzz of bees mingled with birdsong, weaving a gentle melody around them.
For a time, neither spoke. They didn’t need to. Leon found that in her company, the silence was not something to be filled, but something to be shared.
It was YN who broke it first, voice soft as the breeze.
“You look tired, Leon.”
He glanced down at her, surprised, though he shouldn’t have been. She always saw more than most.
“A long week, if I must admit,” he confessed. “The northern patrols are restless. Word of brigands stirring near the border. Arthur’s wary of it spreading.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “I had heard whispers among the guard’s wives.” She then took a moment to look upon his face. “It weighs on you.”
“It does.” He exhaled. “But seeing the courtyard as it was this morning… and this—” He looked around the bright path where they walked, “—reminds me there is still peace worth taking on the weighted matter.”
She smiled at that, her gaze turning upward to meet his. “You seem to take it on more than even our beloved King. But then again, I like to think that Arthur knows he has chosen the best of us all to defend and protect his kingdom.”
A warmth stirred in his chest at the words—not pride, but something quieter. Deeper.
They reached the far edge of the gardens, where an ancient oak spread wide branches overhead, offering cool shade beneath its boughs. Leon paused, leading her gently to the worn stone bench beneath it.
She settled gracefully, smoothing her skirts, and looked to him with an almost teasing glimmer in her eye.
“I must ask you this,” she said softly. “You spend so many hours training, patrolling, and defending… do you ever allow yourself a moment to simply be?”
Leon gave a quiet chuckle, leaning back slightly. “I could ask the same of you, Lady YN. I see you from afar—always tending to others, bringing comfort where it’s needed, helping the palace staff even though you are obligated to do no such thing. Yet when do you rest?”
Her cheeks flushed faintly, though her smile held. “I rest when I can. And I find joy in small things. Moments like this.”
He met her gaze steadily, heart thudding. “As do I.”
For a long breath, they sat in the shade of the oak, neither speaking—content in the quiet closeness between them. The sounds of the castle faded, and for a fleeting moment, the troubles of the realm felt distant.
Leon knew, in his heart, that duty would soon call them both away—he to the sword, she to her endless care for those who needed her. But for now… here beneath the leaves, with the warmth of her beside him, it was enough.
He would carry this moment with him—through long rides, through battlefields, through the weight of command.
The memory of her smile, the grace of her spirit, would be his quiet strength.
Pippin is The musical ever. He's gifted kid burnout personified. He talks to a decapitated head. His grandma tells him to have an orgy. He has an orgy. He kills his dad. There's unrelated (ha) incest going on. He brings his dad back to life. He lays in bed in a fit of despair for 7 days. Literally everyone tells him to kill himself it's the most important plot point.
Yes you heard me right, the best tv show of all time is a fanfic about the Oliver Twist side character Jack Dawkins, aka The Artful Dodger, being a royal naval lieutenant turned surgeon in a penal colony in 1850s Australia who is constantly fighting being sucked back into a life of crime by his pseudo father who he has a complicated, and some may say toxic, father/son relationship with, which also features a class difference romance between him and the governor’s daughter who has a passion for surgery/medicine because she has a life threatening heart condition that only he is willing and skilled enough to operate on.
